


The Shape of a Heart

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Klinger isn't happy that Valentine's Day is on its way.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Kudos: 9





	The Shape of a Heart

There are plenty of reasons to hate February in Korea.

He’s still at war, for one – still at risk of being shot by the (not infrequent) snipers/ black marketeers, still at risk of contracting some horrible disease their crack medical team can’t cure yet.

It’s also cold. Not  _ Toledo _ cold, where he might grimace because the ice on a puddle caved in and left him with a wet boot, maybe even wet socks (ick). Not even Great Lakes cold, where the wind coming off the water seemed made of invisible crystal knives that knew just how to snoove in between every rib, to find the gap between his highest coat button and his neck. It’s a new kind of cold that makes it damn hard to think anything but  _ I’m cold _ . Klinger thinks they ought to be allowed a hibernation allowance – a certain set of hours where all they have to do is bury themselves in blankets, feed the stove up past regulations, and try not to dream of anything too terrible. And, since he’s aiming for the moon with these wishes of his anyway, he wishes he could take Charles, too. Not for the kind of things that would set Captain Pierce grinning and wagging his eyebrows (he  _ knows _ even though Klinger won’t admit his fascination with his Boston counterpart) – but just to hold onto. Klinger sighs.  _ Why’d you go and give ‘im arms like that _ , he asks a faithless universe,  _ then not give him anyone ta hold onto?  _ He wishes he could push those shirt sleeves of the Major’s up – see the thickness of his wrists like he does in the scrub room. Charles probably even has pretty elbows, he’s sure of it.

But it’s February in Korea, it’s cold, and the Major’s prettiness doesn’t belong to him.

And to top it all off? It’s coming up on Valentine’s Day.

Max isn’t the kind of curmudgeon who could ever resent the flurry of letters and gifts that come to the hardworking men and women of their camp. He just wishes someone understood that it makes his throat raw – delivering all these loving messages when there’s not one kind word coming to him, seeing the nurses all fluttery as they exchange little gifts – saved up for over weeks or lovingly crafted – as girlfriends do, as Pierce and the men of the camp make sure every gal feels special.

He’s newly divorced – he isn’t going to be anyone’s Valentine. 

And, in the light of said divorce, he’s looking back, thinking how Laverne always used his gifts as something to laugh about with her friends, no matter how hard he tried to make them nice. It should have tipped him off, he guesses, but he was a kid and he thought that was just how girls were – she didn’t mean it.

Truth be told, he kind of wanted to  _ be _ a Valentine gal – at least when it came to being treated nice. He wanted someone to write pretty words about him and get him something that would make him smile and stay too late into the evening… which were all other reasons his marriage would never have worked out. Laverne had convinced herself that his sewing was a phase, that he’d “man up” as he got older. He spares a look for the pink and white skirt he’d begun to try to make the best of the holiday. It’s unfinished, funny felt hearts just pinned, skirts old-fashioned and meant to bell and sway.

_ What’s the point? _ he thinks glumly.  _ There’s nobody who’s gonna take me on his arm. I don’t fit with the gals – and I make mosta the guys nervous. _

As for the Major – Hell, Cupid himself could probably show up and fill his deliciously round rump full of arrows… and it still wouldn’t help.

There’s nothing for it but to get on with his work and try to make other people happy as he brings them their mail – even if he disappears from their consideration the moment they see those beloved names written on the packages.

His rounds take him in circles as a second delivery appears in the office on the heels of finishing the first. It’s mildly fortuitous as the Colonel presses a piece of candy on him sent by the missus, confiding, “I’d rather have sweet sipping whiskey, but that don’t touch Mildred as rightly romantic.”

Klinger thanks him and shoulders a new bag of mail, wishing, somehow, there’d be something nice for him. Instead of anything nice, he gets snapped at by Captain Hunnicutt because the picture frame Erin has adorned with candy hearts has a chip in the corner.

To his surprise, Charles steps in before he can get out an apology.

“Hunnicutt, the gift traveled  _ eight thousand miles _ . I sincerely doubt that it owes its rough handling to our Company Clerk, who has made a second trip to bring it to you. Manners, hmm?”

Instead of the apology the Major expects to win, BJ’s ire expands to include him. “Don’t act like the white knight, Charles. You’re all the time putting him down, saying how incompetent he is, how the enemy probably sent him to sabotage us, he makes so many mistakes.”

It’s more than Klinger is ready to hear when he’s so low anyway. Leaving the remainder of the mail in a pile (if they think he’s such a screw up, they can sort it themselves) he quietly goes out, walking without seeing a thing.

It’s nothing he didn’t know – that Charles doesn’t think good of him. It’s just that he  _ wants  _ him too so badly it hurts. And doesn’t the Major get it? He didn’t want this. Not the war, not Korea, not being a clerk. It’s really too cold to be outside in the wind, but it has the advantage of being deserted; no one else wants to be outside, either. He claims the stone wall at the end of the camp. The cold of it seeps into his legs, but that’s fine. Maybe it’ll take the edge off of the hot hurt in his throat, behind his eyes.

Why is BJ always so sharp with him, anyway _? You think he’d be happy to have a little girl making him stuff with her own little hands, a wife who loves him enough to pack it up and pay to send it across the world _ , Max thinks _. But that’s not enough. _ Somehow they’re all supposed to feel like it’s worse for him, having a loving family to miss. Max rubs his arms.  _ Sorry Captain, not buying it. You got a lot to be thankful for. _

Not only is Max currently alone – he doesn’t have any idea how to make a world where he  _ won’t _ be. His family (minus a favorite uncle or two) is as pleased with his dress-making as Laverne was; they want him to give it up. He can’t imagine anyone he’ll be allowed to be his whole self with – and that makes him far colder than the wind on this half of the world he never thought he’d see.

“If you are intent on so lofty a perch, might I suggest a warmer coat against the wind?”

He doesn’t mean to take it, but he does before he can help himself – and it is warm – good material, too – and it smells like his favorite thing in the world: the man who has been wearing it. As he bundles up, Charles climbs up to join him on the wall.

“I like to pretend this is the wall of Boston Harbor,” he admits. “If I close my eyes, I can summon the sound and the smell of the sea – and even the concern that my darling sister will, at any minute, shove me in.”

Max  _ loves _ getting a glimpse at who Charles really is, at home, among his people, at ease. But he’s not out here for no reason. “You put her down all the time, too?”

“Only at my gravest peril – she is a better duelist than me – and she  _ cheats _ . However, as you are referring to Hunnicutt’s jab, I think that you should know that it was me he intended to injure – not you.”

“Sure he didn’t mind,” Klinger grouses, feeling less than charitable at the whole thing. He wishes Charles hadn’t seen the hurt flash into his face. “He wishes I’d dress right, you know.”

“He has little room to talk – and it should be a tragedy, indeed, if a lady of your taste began taking fashion advice from Hunnicutt.”

The shudder he feigns makes Klinger smile. “Thanks. But what did you mean – he wanted to hurt you?”

Charles gives a look as though he’s suddenly developed a rather sharp headache. “Hunnicutt has means to know – I shall not elaborate  _ how _ as it is not a story that casts me in particularly good light – that I very much regret my treatment of you upon arriving here.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I was angry… frightened. I felt – I was – abandoned by my family, excepting Honoria. You were regrettably easy to snap at, being always there, and not being an officer. And you snapped back, which I found rather fun. It, ah, it reminded me of Honoria, in fact – your insistence that I act better.  _ Be  _ better.”

“But how come Hunnicutt knew you didn’t mean it – but you never told me?”

“I was concerned you would not accept my apologies. I would not, in your pretty shoes.”

“They ain’t that pretty today. Slush’s hell on suede. And I forgive you, Major. Wish you’d said – earlier.”

“Why?”

“When you showed up… well, you ever notice everybody’s got someone here? The Colonel’s got Margaret. The Father’s got his kids – though how he keeps them all straight I don’t know. Must be the big family he’s from. The Captains go together. When you got here and you didn’t right away belong to anyone – I kinda hoped you might be mine. My friend.”

It is, Charles thinks, a terrible thing to say to a man who has been nothing but cruel. Worse, he cannot recall anyone ever wanting him to be theirs, not like this. Reduced to the unfamiliar state of timidity, he hesitates, asks quietly, “Would you still permit me the chance?”

Huh. Maybe he is going to get a gift today. There’s no lace or pink paper, but Max doesn’t mind a bit.

“You really didn’t mean all that stuff?”

“I really did not. And as your friend, I believe I can make it up to you. Let me?” 

Max very much wants this, but he likes to try for more. “I can keep this coat?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Max. Can we get out of the cold, please?” 

“Yeah. I could use your opinion on a skirt I been working on.”

End! 

  
  



End file.
